Checkmate
by AoUsagi
Summary: A long, lazy afternoon of tea drinking with an old friend. A game of chess. He was supposedly the greatest chess player in all of Wonderland, until a certain sly cat came along and trounced him eighty-two times in a row. The Hatter was, understandably, less than pleased with that.


"Checkmate. I win again."

The silence that followed that rather pompous statement was a rather awkward one. It included a finely dressed man staring at the impossibility on the chessboard on the tablet in front of him, his cup of tea cupped in his hands upon his lap. The amused smile that smirked at him from the other side of the table was almost enough to irk him, but, with a sip of his tea and a sharp intake of breath, the Hatter was back to his old self again.

"How about best of eighty-three?" he asked, grinning hopefully at his opponent, who chuckled lightly. It had been a long, lazy day, and most of it had been spent lounging around outside in the dappled shade and sunshine of the small clearing in which the Hatter's cottage was nestled. What had made it such a long day, Hatter found, was the surprising capabilities of his opponent. No one beat him in chess. _Never. _ It was something akin to Wonderland law.

No one except the sly, slender young man with the little round glasses perched on his nose. Lazy, furry ears drooped in satisfaction and contentment in the afternoon warmth, and the long tail swished back and forth slowly.

The Cheshire Cat smiled and leant back in his over-sized armchair; just another oddity found in the Hatter's garden – and stretched with a yawn.

"I think someone's trying not to be a sore loser." He smirked, his eyes half-lidded with quiet calm of the day. The Hatter pulled a face and poured himself more tea, draining the last few drops into his cup from the teapot.

"Am not. Is not. Won't be." He said, which only roused another amused chuckle not too far from the sound of a purr from the Cat. "I've never lost a single chess game since I was placed in the town below the Palace."

"And yet," the sleeping Cat yawned again, slumping down comfortably in his chair. "You seem to be having a real problem with one little kitty. I'm sure you've tamed Jabberwockies more terrifying than this losing streak of yours."

The Hatter turned up his nose at that comment. He knew fully well that Cheshire was making a nudge at his past – another piece of Wonderland law; never talk about the Hatter's past. Ever. Even Alice knew it, and she had done far worse than beat Hatter in a chess game. She'd gotten herself lost, crashed numerous tea parties, taken on the Queen of Hearts herself, and even managed to escape from the Looking Glass, the one and only prison worse than death itself. She'd escaped from it _twice,_ dammit!

"Now, now," he said, reaching for another teapot from the next table over. "You know we do not speak of taming Jabberwockies. Naughty cat, naughty." He waggled a finger at the Cheshire, who grinned slyly. "If you want to keep the last six of your lives, don't go poking your fingers where you can't see them."

Cheshire purred to himself, that entertained little smile never quite leaving his features. "Hey now. You know it's impolite to know a cats age."

Hatter couldn't resist a snicker at that. It was a running joke throughout much of Wonderland – at the expense of the Cheshire. The only ones who dared to laugh were the ones who knew he could do them no harm. He might be a devil of a cat when it came to a fight, but he considered himself more of a scholar nowadays. Apparently the Palace libraries were quite the place to sneak off to for a nap in the afternoons whenever the Duchess wasn't booting him around or the Queen wasn't holding a bounty on his head. The Hatter also happened to know that the libraries were where a certain young girl was tutored by the White Rabbit. A young girl of particular interest to the Cheshire.

"Oh? And what of her highness, the Red Queen? Surely she knows how many lives you've lost from your nine too, doesn't she?" Hatter prodded, feeling he was rightly justified to poke fun at the Cheshire for the fun the Cat had poked at him. The Cats ginger-tabby ears and tail flicked and swished at that comment, and the Hatter smiled as the Cheshire tried to hide the slightest of blushes with his own tea cup, taking a long sip to hold up a reply.

"She has no need to know," the Cheshire coughed awkwardly. "B-besides, you can't say that she herself is without a decent number of years behind her."

"Oh, of course, of course." Hatter chuckled. "Silly me – oh, daft me. How could I have forgotten? She isn't _really_ a nine-year old little Queen of the Red Pack, now, is she? No, she's far beyond those years. Almost as old as our darling Alice's great, great grandmother, by now, I'd say – "

"Bite your tongue, you tea squandering twit."

They exchanged glances, both knowing they were close to overstepping each others boundaries. It wasn't that the Hatter didn't like the Cheshire, oh no – the disappearing Cat was of great company and conversation, it was just that his difficult past as an assassin for the Queen of Hearts had made him a bit harder to relate to over the past few years. Today was the rare sort of occasion where they all just relaxed, drank tea, played chess or lazed around, and nobodies heads rolled. And, Hatter thought as a side note, if heads _were_ rolling, they sure as hell weren't rolling around here. Maybe somewhere, there was someone was causing Her Most Royal Excellency grief, and in turn she'd cause them a whole lot of death.

The Hatter sighed. He didn't like arguing with people. Especially the Cheshire. He'd only ever gotten into a hands-on tussle with the slightly gender-confused Cat once before, and whilst blows had been landed and blood had been drawn, no one was seriously hurt and both got sternly reprimanded by the March Hare. Who had started his rant at them before meandering off into something else altogether. The worst part of it was, he'd made them both sit there and be nattered at for about two hours straight, and he hadn't even let Hatter get up to make some tea. There had been some serious sugar-withdrawals in those hours, and Hatter had almost made himself sick afterwards by trying to re-hydrate himself. But the Cheshire Cat was usually far more pragmatic than to get himself into a fight. Besides – the fight had only occurred because Hatter had stepped in to stop a potential fight between the Cheshire and the White Rabbit.

"Consider it bitten, friend," he sighed, offering the Cat a smile. The Cheshire considered for a moment, looking at his hand a little skeptically as if he thought the moment he touched the Hatter's fingers, his own hand might catch fire or something silly like that.

"Hmmm…all right," the tension in the air vanished as the smile returned to the Cats face, and they shook on it. Then, he grinned slyly. "But only if you beat me, best of eighty-three."

Hatter swallowed hard as he glanced down at the chessboard between them. All of his pieces were either knocked over or forced into corners. He didn't know how Cheshire had done it, but he had done it. Eighty-two times already. Hatter took a deep breath, before starting to pick up the pieces again.

"All right," he relented. "Best of eighty-three."

"No hard feelings, of course, old friend," the Cheshire beamed, resetting his own pieces.

The Hatter took a long sip from his tea, washing the feeling of regret he could feel coming on down his throat and into his stomach. It was going to be a long afternoon.

_Fin._

* * *

_It's not really pedophilia, if you squint hard enough. The Cheshire just has an interesting taste in women. Especially ones who have had their age reversed on them by the Queen of Hearts. His taste in men is also quite interesting._

_Welcome to Alive in Wonderland, folks. You can find drawings of these lovely gentlemen on deviantART on my profile, if you can find them buried under all of the ponies._

_-Mercy. _


End file.
